


Phasianidae

by TRASHCAKE



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bipolar Disorder, Copious amounts of tea, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Johnny from NCT is Changbin's brother because I said so, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince Changbin, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tattoo Artist Hyunjin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TRASHCAKE/pseuds/TRASHCAKE
Summary: Changbin's royal rebellion comes with a lawyer's approval. Hyunjin's head buzzes as much as his favourite tattoo gun. No one knows why the prince chooses a no-name artist to decorate his skin, but together they create a masterpiece.
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 57
Kudos: 272
Collections: Hyunfest 2020





	Phasianidae

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling particularly bipolar while planning this so oops sorry Hyunjin, I hope the ziprasidone isn't too rough on you, buddy. 
> 
> Writing this just made me want more tattoos tbh;;;;

Hyunjin’s phone lights up with a notification. The vibration breaks him out of his spell, tearing his attention away from the piece he’s working on. His stylus hovers over the surface of his tablet as he pauses, observes the clock that has displayed alongside the notification and sighs. 

He’s been working for a few hours straight, his hand starting to cramp and the pain in his back becoming a forefront bother in his mind, rather than a background distraction. He pushes his glasses back up his nose with one hand, grabbing for his phone with the other. 

The notification is from Instagram, judging by the icon. Most likely a DM from someone trying to book a session with him. Hyunjin is ready to reply with a reiteration of his bio, and that he only accepts bookings through his parlour’s email or online booking enquiry. 

To Hyunjin’s surprise, it’s not a booking request, but a follow notification. Normally something he’d dismiss, the username causes Hyunjin to double take. 

**seochangbin**

Unlocking his phone and double checking, Hyunjin sees the verification mark next to the username and sets his gaze straight at the studio wall. Minho’s tattoo gun buzzes in the background, his idle chatter with his client fading into white noise. 

A prince has followed him on Instagram. 

Hyunjin isn’t entirely up to date on the royals, and he’ll admit to that freely. When the television in the studio starts playing tabloid nonsense, either he or Minho will take the remote and change the channel. He’s not interested, not in the slightest, yet somehow Hyunjin has reserves of information about them, brought on purely by osmosis.

Changbin is the youngest son and second in line to the throne. He’s the first openly LGBT royal, and according to a quick Google search on his phone, Hyunjin learns that he’s recently purchased an entire pharmacy chain.

And he follows Hyunjin on Instagram.

Relatively speaking, Hyunjin is no one. He’s got a decent amount of followers for a tattoo artist, co-owns a parlour with his friend that they’ve called CVLT out of irony. Two artists with small but dedicated followings, a store hidden away in the middle of a back alley. 

He’s not a celebrity artist, nor someone who should ever be on the prince’s radar. He’s just a guy in his shop, dedicating his life to an exploration of colour and ink under skin. Hyunjin is just living his life, unprepared for the small burst of attention that the prince’s follow does to his page.

The likes and messages start to roll in, especially when a second notification pops up on Hyunjin’s screen. Changbin has followed both the store account and Hyunjin’s personal profile.

Hyunjin hits him with a follow back on both, waits for a message that never comes.

He uploads his work of the day, a watercolour sparrow on a client’s chest.

When prince Changbin likes the design, Hyunjin stares at the notification with a sense of foreboding.

\------ 

CVLT Tattoo is located in one of the sketchiest alleyways Hyunjin has ever seen, sandwiched between a store promoting crystal healing and another that boasts the employment of a suspicious sounding naturopath.

They barely have enough room for a back office, the two co-owners preferring to drag their work chairs into the break room and hunching over the lunch table to do their paperwork.

Minho has taken a break from whatever he was doing, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his RSI to stop cramping as his fingers perch over the keyboard. His tattoos are on full display, Minho gets new ink from nearly every artist he meets, even if it’s just something small.

A walking sketchbook and a picture in the portfolio of dozens of artists, his entire body is a celebration of the broad artistry of their craft, in comparison to Hyunjin’s carefully curated and monochrome pieces.

It’s funny how Hyunjin’s personal work is in colour, yet his personal style won’t stray more varied than black, white and grey. His single colour piece, his first tattoo, having long since been covered with a strip of self-inflicted blackout that wraps around his forearm.

“You’re never gonna believe this,” Minho slides along the ground on his wheelie chair. He holds his phone out, showcasing an email sitting within their work account. One of the attached files reads _Tattoo_NDA.pdf_.

Hyunjin has an inkling as to who it’s for.

“He wants a private session with you,” Minho reads, his eyebrows disappearing under his hair with how far they’re raised. “After hours.”

“I’ll start late and go overtime,” Hyunjin shrugs. Their talk is all business, like it’s just another customer with a weird demand. Hyunjin’s hands are shaking with nerves, jittering from their place in his lap.

A prince, a member of the royal family, he wants _Hyunjin’s_ art on his skin forever.

It’s the kind of pressure that Hyunjin isn’t sure he can cope with.

“We can’t say we did it, but the email says we can upload a picture without mentioning names,” Minho drawls, peering down through his glasses at the message on his screen. “He seems pretty confident in your work.”

“He’s been following me for a few weeks,” Hyunjin mentions. Minho is well aware, being the first person Hyunjin screamed to about the notification, a fact he can’t stop bringing up, nearly a month later. “He knows what I can do.”

“It’s just a floral piece,” Minho sends the Non-Disclosure Agreements to the printer in the corner. He scoots along the ground on his office chair, not even standing to collect two of the most important forms they’ve ever had to sign. “You’d be a shitty tattoo artist if you fucked up _flowers_.”

Minho is right, especially considering Hyunjin’s expertise. His style lends well to flowers, and most of his popular work from regular clients comes in the form of bold, floral designs. Whatever the prince wants, it should be easy enough to do, and to do well.

Hyunjin signs his forms and Minho sends them off. He handles the booking, and Hyunjin is the one left to do up the design. It’s as easy as Minho said, but the process still has Hyunjin hunched over his tablet— sketching, erasing and re-doing.

A simple design for a complex customer.

He sends the final piece off for the prince to approve.

_it’s perfect_ , comes the reply.

Hyunjin releases a breath he feels like he’s been holding in for days.

\------ 

It’s not commonplace to read up on a customer before they walk into Hyunjin’s store. But Hyunjin’s customers aren’t always princes with their entire lives spent basking in the spotlight.

He has to admit that he’s curious— why would a prince of all people come to a tattoo artist like him in the first place? Why a tattoo, and why now? The royals aren’t exactly known for their body modifications.

Prince Johnny, Changbin’s brother and heir to the throne, his single lobe piercings caused quite the stir when he was first spotted wearing them, aged eighteen. Hyunjin was thirteen at the time, remembers other boys in school pushing all sorts of dirty needles through their ears in the bathrooms, trying to look just like Johnny.

The public eye isn’t trained on Changbin the way it is on his brother, the single Bisexual pride flag posted to Changbin’s Instagram account a few years ago the closest to controversy he’s ever seen.

Quietened by the support from his family, all Changbin’s coming out has done is spark fast dying rumours about his relationships with other people: a children’s entertainer, a Rockstar. The son of a lawyer whose circle overlaps with the royals.

But there’s nothing. He’s spotless. His interviews are about his philanthropy, not his social life. If it weren’t for the posts on his Instagram feed, Hyunjin would assume that he doesn’t have one at all.

Prince Changbin, the elusive and rule abiding royal, suddenly messages an unknown tattoo parlour for an appointment. Either he’s not as boring as he seems, or his rebellious phase is hitting late.

Hyunjin doesn’t know if he should care.

The NDA is straight from the royal’s legal team, so the tattoo idea has likely been approved behind closed doors. A lawyer approved mark on his spotless record, a pretty design of his mother’s birth flowers inked onto his calf.

The prince seems pleasant enough, if not entirely too eager.

Hyunjin can tell that he’s a first time customer, because he has so many ideas and it’s been hard for him to focus on all of them at once. Their email correspondence, one thing that Hyunjin is legally obligated to keep secret, includes a non-committal joke about another tattoo and a second session.

He doesn’t know what to think. He still doesn’t know if he should care.

But Hyunjin is a professional, and puts the same amount of effort into each client. That’s what he says.

(Hyunjin is a liar)

His piece for the prince is time intensive, most likely the best piece he’s done so far.

He’s just happy he’s allowed to showcase his hard work, despite it all.

\------ 

Hyunjin is setting up his table when there’s a knock at the door to his parlour. Ten minutes before the prince is set to arrive, and most likely the bodyguards meant to inspect the premises before the session.

For some reason, the prince has requested that he attend alone, and that the guards wait for him outside. It seems foolish, because although Hyunjin isn’t an aggressor, the prince and his guards don’t exactly know that.

It’s probably why they’re so thorough with their search, looking beneath every surface and inspecting everything their dirty hands can touch. Hyunjin follows them along with a bottle of disinfectant spray, an attempt to keep his station as sanitary as possible.

He sighs as they rub their hands over Hyunjin’s carefully cling wrapped table, he rolls his eyes as they jump when he removes the protective coating once they’re done.

“For the prince’s skin only,” he informs them. It seems to ease their worries, even just by a fraction. “I’m not letting him walk away with an infection.”

“Good to see you’re being clean,” one of the guards nods. His two friends search behind Hyunjin’s ink bottles for anything suspicious.

“It’s the same hospitality I offer anyone who walks into my shop,” Hyunjin tries to act unphased by the commotion. He’s sure the guards can see right through him.

They leave in a single file, happy but still cautious. Hyunjin has been informed that they’ll be standing guard outside for the entirety of the session, and will not hesitate to break the door down in case of strange noises or signs of a struggle.

Hyunjin just hopes that the prince isn’t one of those customers who makes loud, pained noises during their tattoos, otherwise he’ll have a door to fix and not enough money to cover it.

There are voices outside, muffled by the glass. Hyunjin’s store has blacked out windows— a privacy courtesy for his customers— but it means while no one can see inside, Hyunjin can’t exactly spot anyone through the windows, either.

He hears someone being thanked, the sliding of his door and the ringing of his automatic bell. He straightens and rearranges his black ink bottle for what feels like the hundredth time of the day.

“Hyunjin,” the prince calls out. He walks straight through the parlour with the air of importance he knows he deserves, a gait and posture so fitting of someone who comes from royalty. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

He’s shorter than Hyunjin thought he would be, yet still as impossibly handsome as his Instagram and press photos suggest. Hyunjin isn’t sure if he should bow or not, and he struggles to remove his black latex gloves in case the prince is expecting a handshake.

“It’s fine,” Changbin waves him off. He’s wearing shorts, something the press would have a field day over. In all his recent followings of the royal family, he’s noticed how little they show their skin. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“I still feel like I should do something,” Hyunjin replies, “but maybe I should have said ‘hello’, first.”

_That_ makes Changbin laugh. It breaks the ice between them, and does so visibly. Changbin’s posture falls into a slouch, and he leans comfortably on the cling wrapped bench he’ll be spending the next few hours on.

“How do we do this?” he’s almost shy when he asks, gesturing to his single shaved leg. Hyunjin is glad he had the foresight to mention that, because meeting the prince is one thing, but dry shaving his leg with a disposable razor is another.

“Stand while I put the stencil on, and we’ll go from there.”

Hyunjin finds himself back in work mode, almost forgetting just whose leg he’s drawing alignment markers onto, doesn’t blink twice as he’s applying alcohol to his premade stencil and smoothing the design to its intended place.

He remembers it’s the prince once he pulls away, motioning for him to inspect his leg in the tattoo parlour’s mirror.

Hyunjin loves that gaudy mirror, picked up from a thrift store alongside all of the non-tattoo related equipment in the shop. The frame is filled with large glass gems and wiring, the entire thing reminding Hyunjin of bubbles in the sunshine.

Minho finds it gaudy and atrocious, while loving it for exactly that reason.

Changbin, on the other hand, does not comment on the mirror, not like so many of Hyunjin’s regular customers. His focus is on his leg and the temporary stencil that sits above his ankle, extending halfway up the side of his outer calf.

“It looks great,” he says with a nod. He stands at the mirror awkwardly, catching Hyunjin’s gaze in the reflection, before he’s ushered onto the tattoo bench with a wave of Hyunjin’s gloved hand. “I’ve always wanted to ask, why the black gloves?”

Hyunjin is testing his machine with a few taps to the foot pedal as Changbin asks the common question. He launches into a brief explanation— it suits his aesthetic and covers the colour of any blood on his hands— before starting on a story about the one and only time he’s ever worn white to work.

“Bloodstain, right on my chest,” he says. Hyunjin rambles when he’s nervous. “Blood and ink, I couldn’t get it out, so I had to throw that shirt away.”

Changbin laughs good naturedly at the story. Hyunjin finds him polite and rather comfortable to be around.

“I’m gonna start now,” he says, tapping the foot pedal a few times, his gun buzzing as the needles extend and retract. He does it partly for himself and partly to get Changbin used to the noise. Dipping the needles into ink, a folded mass of paper towel in his left hand, Hyunjin gets ready to work. “Don’t scream or your bodyguards will kill me.”

He’s only half joking.

“I’m sure it’s not that ba— ah, _Jesus_.”

Hyunjin hides his smile under a curtain of hair. Surely hearing a royal curse is part of the NDA, but it’s a memory he’s going to treasure for a long time. It’s jarring to see them fall from their untouchable glory, falling into the kind of language reserved for Minho and that one time Hyunjin tattooed his head.

Working in relative silence, he glances up from time to time to check how Changbin is going. He seems used to the pain by the time Hyunjin has finished the outline of the first flower, scrolling through his phone with a white knuckled grip.

“Am I okay to film you?” Changbin asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure,” Hyunjin pulls his tattoo gun away, wipes the excess ink and blood from the design with his alcohol soaked paper towel. “Thought we weren’t talking about this,” he gestures towards the half-finished linework, “in public, though?”

“Close friends story,” Changbin replies, almost cheekily. “They all know I’m getting it done, anyway.”

Hyunjin wonders if Changbin has spoken of him, too. There must have been something that drew him to Hyunjin’s work, and he’s more than curious as to what it is. The thought crosses his mind that maybe it has something to do with Hyunjin himself. After all, Changbin _did_ follow his personal account first.

But that’s a preposterous thought, one that’s best shelved or thrown away.

“Do they know you’re being a little bitch about it?” Hyunjin smirks up into the camera lens, under the assumption that he’s being filmed. Changbin yelps in offence. Hyunjin wipes away the excess ink and continues with his work.

“He’s lying,” Changbin tells his invisible audience. “I’m taking it like a champ.”

Hyunjin hums as if disagreeing, laughs and takes it back. He’s used to putting on an act for Instagram stories, his hands naturally curl to hold a tattoo gun, even when empty. He’s in his element, the extraordinary circumstances forgotten.

“Take a break,” he breathes, wiping the last of the outline excess away. He flexes his hands as a momentary stretch, before reaching for his coloured ink. “Hardest part comes next.”

“It feels like I’m sunburnt,” Changbin’s hands hover over his leg, unsure and without touching. Hyunjin bats his curious fingers away from what is essentially an open wound.

“No touching,” he says, mixing up the perfect shade of orange. “It’s still fresh and your hands are dirty.”

“My hands are very clean,” Changbin huffs, but obeys, tucking his hands back by his sides. “Thank you very much.”

“Not used to being told what to do, are you?”

Hyunjin is joking, but the following silence is enough for him to assume he’s crossed the line. He coughs out an apology, reaching for his bottle of red ink to busy himself. Orange and yellow flowers, red for shading. A gradient of emerald green from behind the design and extending outwards. It’s a big piece and he’ll have to sit in awkward silence for the rest of it.

“No, no,” Changbin admits, a little sheepish. He speaks quietly, unsure. “Quite the opposite, really.”

It feels too personal.

But the prince can say whatever he’d like— Hyunjin is contractually obliged to keep his mouth shut.

“Sounds like I was describing myself, then,” he smiles, dips the tip of his needle into the orange ink. “Following orders isn’t really my thing.”

“Wish that was me,” Changbin hisses out, the broad line of shading needles digging into his skin. The lighter colour makes the blood visible as it beads along his skin, mixing with the ink. Hyunjin wipes it away, smearing the mess down Changbin’s calf. “Royalty is about following orders and smiling for the cameras.”

Hyunjin remains silent for a moment, trying to think of the right words. “We all have roles to play, I think,” he finally settles on. He pulls his needles away and gestures to himself. “I got face tattoos because it fits with my job.”

A rose along one sideburn, a dagger on the other. Minho’s work, naturally, because Hyunjin doesn’t lend that kind of trust to anyone else.

“You have the freedom to get them _because_ of your job,” Changbin says. He’s never thought of it that way before. “And for what it’s worth, I like your tattoos.”

“You hit double digits and stop caring,” Hyunjin shrugs. He pulls the hem of his jeans up to show the teabag tattoo on his ankle, an homage to the thermos of tea sitting on his workbench. “But thanks.”

“They don’t have meanings?”

“Not all of them, I’m not that deep,” Hyunjin laughs. “I like the design, isn’t that enough of a meaning?”

“I suppose it is.”

Changbin chats idly through the rest of the design, sitting through the pain better than Hyunjin will ever give him credit for. He barely winces through the highlighting stage— white ink added over already raw skin, working quickly and pushing deep because the ink often sets in the pot before it’s used.

He leaves after paying a second time, saying the finished design safely wrapped beneath plastic is worth double the quote. The praise is flattering, and the extra money appreciated, so Hyunjin accepts both at Changbin’s insistence.

“Seriously,” he says, swivelling his calf to look at his new tattoo. “The sketch was gorgeous, but the finished result is incredible. I love it.”

Hyunjin thanks him. Changbin’s appearance has ruffled during his visit, making him look a little rougher than royal, more like a normal person. He looks good. Hyunjin refuses to acknowledge it.

“I’ll see you again?” Changbin asks, just before he sets out on his way. Hyunjin, already starting to tidy up, falters.

“Sure,” he shrugs. Hyunjin has no idea where or how they’ll run into each other again, unless Changbin’s email comments of future work were serious rather than non-committal. “Message me when that’s healed and we can talk about some of your other ideas.”

“I will,” Changbin replies, very seriously. He hovers in the doorway for a moment, so Hyunjin continues his clean up duties. It’s late, he’d like to go home. He doubts that Changbin has anything more substantial to say in person that can’t be said in an email. “Thanks again, Hyunjin.”

The door closes behind him. Hyunjin scrambles for his phone the second the door is closed.

The piece is posted to both his personal and the store’s account, claiming it was for someone who doesn’t have an account to be tagged.

Hours later, it’s late and he’s alone.

Hyunjin finally allows his hands to shake.

\------ 

Personal accounts are called that for a reason. The Instagram profile bearing his name contains pictures of his work for his own purposes, rather than anyone else’s. His feed is littered with mirror selfies and posts about Minho’s demon cats, aesthetic brunch posts photobombed by his friend’s fingers.

The account is _personal_ , but he also runs the work account. Any photographs of his designs are there because Hyunjin especially likes them, rather than as an attempt to network.

It’s the nature of the account that has people suspicious when suddenly, the prince second to the throne, starts liking and commenting on the mundane of Hyunjin’s everyday life. He calls Minho’s demons one, two and three _cuties_. He says Hyunjin’s French toast looks tasty.

Changbin brings in attention and suspicion with his actions, seemingly knows about it, continues anyway. Hyunjin is suddenly busy with consultations and Minho has started answering the work phone, purely because he’s not afraid to tell tabloid sites and drama channels to fuck off.

“Our Hyunjin is a talented tattoo artist,” he drawls into the phone. If it had a cord, he’d surely be twirling it around his fingers. “Maybe the prince knows quality work and quality people when he sees it.”

Of course, the non-disclosure agreement prevents him from saying anything further, but Hyunjin is almost certain that Minho’s response would remain the same without it. They’re at work, they’ve got clients. Neither of them have time to entertain anyone looking for something else.

All the while, Changbin continues to message Hyunjin, mostly pictures of his tattoo as it scabs and heals. With such a heavily coloured piece it’s scabbed over and flaking. He’s cleaning it and taking care of it well, so there’s no issues with the healing process.

He asks anyway.

Standard first time procedure, wondering if the ink should be visible within the scab. Instead of blaming Hyunjin as others often do, Changbin is sweet enough to worry if it’s his own body that’s the problem.

_I’ve heard that sometimes bodies can reject the ink, is that happening to me?_

Hyunjin takes a close look at the photo sent through to his personal account, and notes nothing out of the ordinary. It’s healing well, it’s not hurting anymore, there should be no reason for extended contact.

Chalking it up to nerves, Hyunjin answers his questions politely and waits for the conversation to fizzle out when the last scab falls.

He’s not quite sure why he’s so disappointed when it does.

\------

A café near Hyunjin has a spectacular blend of tea. Cherry and cacao with coconut pieces, Hyunjin drinks it more often than he has straight water. His workday starts earlier than his scheduled time, because he asks the staff to fill his thermos before he even thinks about walking into the store.

But it’s closed.

Hyunjin starts work at 10am, the café usually opens four hours prior. Yet the tables have been stacked to the side, the doors locked and the closed sign flipped around. People are milling about inside, but no one is free to let Hyunjin in.

He wonders if something is wrong.

He’s befriended a few of the baristas during his patronage, some of them following him across various social media sites. He’s about to message Jeno and ask what’s happening, but movement makes him pause.

There are bodyguards in the store. Familiar ones. All holding cardboard cups and discussing between themselves. A lone figure sits at a corner table on his own. Hyunjin can’t see him too well, but he can make an educated guess.

“Bastard,” Hyunjin mumbles. Jeno appears at the glass door and mouths an apology, teamed with a shrug. The situation is out of his control, so Hyunjin waves him off and laments. He’ll just have to pick up a cup on his break, no big deal.

A break in tradition never hurt anyone, even when Minho looks at him curiously while he makes his tea from the bags they keep in the shop. Hyunjin still has some sort of sustenance while he works, and that’s all that matters.

“I can’t tell you who sent it, but they said you’ll know,” Jeno says, later, handing Hyunjin the largest cup size the café offers, filled with a liquid that smells strongly of cherries.

“Bastard,” Hyunjin reiterates. He takes the cup from Jeno’s hands and inhales deeply. Smell like comfort and a hard day’s work. “I’ll let him know I got it, thanks.”

Jeno looks at him oddly for a second, then hums in understanding. “Explains a lot,” he says.

Hyunjin doesn’t think it explains a thing.

Departing with a wave, Jeno jogs back across the street to his store. Hyunjin watches him go, sipping at his tea absentmindedly.

As Jeno disappears through the café door, Hyunjin pulls his phone from his pocket.

_thanks_

He attaches a picture of his tea to a message, sends it off to Changbin’s account.

He’s met with a winking emoji in reply.

\------ 

When Hyunjin speaks of his home life and the small apartment he shares, there aren’t many people who find his living situation surprising. A rental place not too far from the shop, shared with an old friend, filled to the brim with art prints, candles and entirely too many houseplants.

His housemate does raise a few eyebrows in comparison, purely because he’s the complete opposite to Hyunjin. Seungmin is a primary school teacher and dresses appropriately, when venturing out to do their weekly shopping the two are a mismatched pair.

Hyunjin finds the juxtaposition hilarious.

Seungmin often comments that Hyunjin’s outfit choices would have him burnt at the stake as a witch, but only in the event of accidental time travel. Hyunjin usually replies that he should spend less time playing video games and more time planning his lessons.

It’s a good, comfortable friendship and neither of them has any plans to move out. Whatever they have just _works_ for them, and Hyunjin is happy.

“You watered the plants, yet?” Seungmin asks, flinging his bag at the kitchen table and collapsing onto one of the chairs. Hyunjin replies in affirmation while fixing himself a cup of tea.

While not the owner of the (admittedly too many) plants within the apartment, Seungmin does his best to take care of them. He knows how much they mean to Hyunjin, and is a good enough friend to help him with the gardening.

As far as housemates go, Seungmin is the best one that Hyunjin has ever had.

“How were the kids?” Hyunjin finishes stirring the sugar into his tea, flinging his used teaspoon into the sink. He’ll clean it later.

“Adorable terrors,” Seungmin sighs. He loves his job, but working with children seems overwhelming. Hyunjin met one of his past classes during an art day he helped curate, and the entire experience aged him several years.

“So, the usual, then?” Hyunjin snickers. He takes a sip from his mug and reclines against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah.”

Seungmin glances at Hyunjin’s right hand, where his wrist brace disappears under the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re still working?”

Sometimes work has to be done at home, like preliminary sketches and organisation of designs for the following day. Hyunjin does it all on his computer and his tablet at home, brace on his wrist to ease the RSI that comes with constant drawing.

“Might take a break, I want some new ink,” Hyunjin muses to himself. He’s got an old practice gun lying around and there’s a blank spot on his ankle that has been bothering him for a while.

“Make it a smiley face,” comes Seungmin’s suggestion.

Later, when Hyunjin uploads a picture of his new tattoo to his Instagram story, he credits his housemate for the idea.

\------ 

Tattooing a prince should be something life changing, Hyunjin thinks. But his life returns to normal once the messages between them begin to die down; Changbin’s tattoo healing well and without worry.

So Hyunjin gets back to it, he inks his designs onto the skin of the normal and the not famous, remembering on occasion that blood he once wiped away with ink and alcohol was blue, instead.

If anyone has noticed that Hyunjin now pays a little more attention to the royal family, no one has said anything. It hasn’t been a conscious effort on Hyunjin’s part — after meeting Changbin those few times, articles about the prince that he normally would have skipped over are ones he finds himself clicking on.

A little more in tuned to the happenings of the royal family, but no more than anyone else. Being the one-time tattoo artist to a prince is just a surreal story that he’s not legally allowed to talk about.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Minho says. He sighs, puts his phone back onto the break room table and buries his head in his hands. “This is on you, not me, but _fuck_ I’m not happy.”

“What’s up?”

Minho pushes his phone towards Hyunjin with an exaggerated groan. “I hate this,” he says.

What greets Hyunjin is an updated version of a familiar form, another non-disclosure agreement that comes hand in hand with working on the prince. The message that comes along with it makes him pause, however. 

The prince may be told what to do, but he’s still not used to hearing the word _no_. It’s obvious with the way he speaks in his email, the little tells that show he has no idea what he’s asking for, nor understands the kind of pressure he’s about to put on Hyunjin. 

“After hours sessions with me?” Hyunjin pushes his glasses up his nose, huffing quietly. “He expects me to work overtime and produce the same quality of work?” 

“You’re a professional,” Minho flicks a balled up piece of paper in his direction. “You should always produce quality work.” 

“I’m a fucking human being who gets tired,” Hyunjin collapses face first onto the table in front of him, the pads of his glasses digging uncomfortably into his nose. “I’ll have to do late starts on the days he wants to come in.” 

It turns out that Changbin wants to extend his tattoo, taking the design from hip to ankle. He has one night per week free for Hyunjin to work on it, a vague idea and an endless budget. It’s doable with the right kind of planning, working in sections so that he’s not trying to colour over scabbed and healing parts of the piece. 

The work and the schedule are doable, but it’s all such a pain in the ass. Hyunjin needs to think about the paycheck a piece of this size will bring in, the dollar signs enough of a motivation for him to send an affirmative _yeah, let's do it_ message back to the royal email account. 

From there it’s just negotiations. When is Hyunjin free to close the whole shop down, and what times can Changbin sneak away from his busy schedule in order to bleed all over Hyunjin’s table. It’s gentle explanations on how tattoos work and breaking the piece down into workable segments that fit within time restraints. 

The prince is nothing but accommodating during the formal exchange of emails, adding input into Hyunjin’s Instagram messages whenever there’s something he wants to add without the looming presence of a lawyer over his shoulder. Mostly pertaining to his excitement, his gratitude despite Hyunjin’s inconvenience and the insistence that he’ll pay for an Uber ride home after every session.

“You’re gonna be stuck in a room with royalty for the next three months,” Minho snickers, taking a glance over the finalised copy of the NDA. “Half naked royalty.” 

Hyunjin busies his hands. “I’m a professional,” he huffs. “Half naked customers don’t bother me, I’ve done it before.” 

“And you’ll do it again,” Minho rolls his chair along the floor of the break room. “But will they ever be a hot prince?” 

“I’ve tattooed your ass,” Hyunjin points out. Minho laughs out loud, the sound of it filling the small room, echoing and bouncing off the walls. 

“Thanks for the ego boost,” he says, once he’s recovered. “It’s not every day you’re compared to royalty.” 

“Your Instagram handle is literally _inkedprince_ ,” Hyunjin deadpans. Minho’s first ever tattoo, a stick and poke long since covered over, was a crown. It’s a moniker that’s stuck, and Hyunjin never misses an opportunity to mock him for it. He bows. “Your highness.” 

“Save it for Prince Changbin,” Minho rolls his eyes. He drags a hand through his undercut, the styled strands long having fallen out of place. The movement reveals a set of dark red roses hiding beneath the shaved part of his hair. 

To date, it’s one of the best pieces Hyunjin has ever done.

“This is…” Hyunjin watches Minho absentmindedly— his familiar tics and twitches, the furrowing of his brow, the way he fiddles with the plug in his left ear whenever he’s concentrating a little too hard. “It’s a lot.”

“Feeling the pressure already?” Minho tilts his head to the side, peering at Hyunjin over his glasses. “You’ve done bigger pieces before.” 

“It’s a break in my routine,” Hyunjin taps his tablet stylus against the breakroom table. “I don’t cope well with that kinda shit.” 

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you need to skip a session,” Minho replies. Hyunjin knows he’s right. “He seems pretty accommodating, like this is a favour you’re doing for him and not your literal job.” 

“That’s nice of him,” Hyunjin hums. He’s about to speak, when his phone rings with his daily alarm. 

Home time. 

“You better go,” Minho waves him off. Hyunjin starts packing his things with one hand and opening the Uber app with another. “I can finish up here.” 

“You sure?” Hyunjin asks, purely out of politeness. They both know what the alarm means, why he has to rush off the second it rings. 

“Go on,” Minho shoos him again, with a little more force this time. “I pack up most nights, anyway.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Hyunjin slings his bag over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the parlour. 

He’s thankful, and not for the first time, that it’s Minho he chose to go into business with.

No one understands him better.

\------- 

Innocent, innocuous little pills. White and red capsules and small ivory tablets. Hyunjin struggles to push them free of their foil, the aluminium tough. The pressure beds the capsules and Hyunjin pops them back into their cylindrical form before depositing them into his palm, staring. 

“Meds and beds,” chirps Seungmin from the kitchen table. He's planning a lesson over a pot of Hyunjin’s fancier tea. He’d be upset if there wasn’t a second teacup on the table, ready for Hyunjin once he’s downed his pills. 

“Something like that,” Hyunjin replies. He swallows the medication in one go, barely flinching. “Might be up for a while, though, so maybe no beds in the next few hours.” 

Seungmin frowns. 

“I’m fine,” Hyunjin waves him off, taking the opposite seat and reaching for his tea. “Nothing serious, just more work to do, I guess.” 

“I will force feed you pericyazine if you’re still awake at 3am,” Seungmin fumbles and trips over the name of the medication, much in the same way that Hyunjin does. It’s something they have in common. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

“I’ll slip it into your tea.” 

“Try me, het.” 

The two end up in a mock serious staring contest, one that they both lose the second Seungmin starts to laugh. Bright and easy, understanding and forgiving. A representation of their easy friendship.

“I worry about you,” he says, finally. 

Hyunjin sighs. 

“I know.”

\-------

Hyunjin needs to complete the prince’s tattoo in segments, and the hardest part is making sure he’s not attempting to tattoo over sore, healing spots of the design. The abundance of colour within the piece means that there will be a lot of scabbing, too. 

Changbin’s leg will look like a trainwreck until the final scab falls, and even then he’s got a few weeks before the skin beneath it heals and the colour begins to shine through. 

But Hyunjin is a professional. As Minho so often brings up, he’s done plenty of large pieces before— backs, especially. His portfolio is filled with intricately shaded designs spanning large pieces of skin. 

He’s taking the same approach to Changbin’s leg as he has with all his other large scale pieces. The first session is the longest, with the longest break in between. He’ll do up the lineart, get the whole thing done in one sitting. 

After it’s healed, he’ll be ready to go in with sections of colour, separated aspects of the design that can be done in sessions of varying length. He’s fine. Hyunjin is a professional. He’s got this. 

Prince Changbin’s first session is booked for Hyunjin’s day off. Considering the amount of work he’s about to do, paired with the fact that he’ll be working after hours, Hyunjin wants to go into the piece with rested eyes and hands that aren’t yet aching. 

Minho hits him with an eyebrow raise for that one, the single movement conveying his thoughts. It’s not something Hyunjin would do for a regular customer, but he’s long past pretending that his client is anything other than extraordinary. 

Which is likely why he’s created what is sure to be his best piece yet. 

A peacock in brilliant greens and golds, its feathers extending down past Changbin’s knee. The same style of flowers on his shin surrounding the design, the previous shading work connecting upwards and around the feathers. 

He’s had to custom order new bottles of green ink, because the one he usually works with just doesn’t have the right base for the design. Hyunjin knows that the months of effort will be worth it. The prince will be happy and he’ll have inked his very own masterpiece.

“God,” Changbin breathes. Hyunjin has his head lowered out of courtesy, because the placement of the design has the prince parading around his shop in a pair of paper, sterile underwear. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Wait until I’m done,” Hyunjun mumbles, busying his hands in rearranging his ink pots and re-taping the grip on his gun. “That’s just the stencil.” 

The purple stands out against Changbin’s skin, and even with the marker lines that stripe along his thigh, Hyunjin has to agree. It’s going to look incredible. 

“I’ve been so excited for this, you have no idea,” Changbin says. He positions himself on Hyunjin’s plastic wrapped bench, stencil-marked thigh facing the artist. “Actually, you probably do.” 

He looks almost sheepish, as if suddenly remembering the flurry of messages sent to Hyunjin’s Instagram over the previous days. Giddy, excited countdowns, questions about the piece, mentions of wanting to see Hyunjin again. 

Those last messages, for the most part, remain ignored. 

Hyunjin knows there’s nothing to come from acknowledging them, anyway. 

“I’m gonna have to, uh, touch you,” he says, gesturing to Changbin’s leg. “I’m not trying to be inappropriate, just, uh, bracing my hand.” 

Hyunjin wiggles his fingers as if it means anything. 

“You’re a professional,” Changbin reiterates. Hyunjin has lost count at how many times he’s been called that over the past few weeks, especially in regards to Changbin and his tattoo. “I trust you’re not doing anything weird.” 

“I’m gonna have to grab your butt, dude,” Hyunjin blows a stray hair from his face. “You sure you’re cool with that?” 

“Hyunjin,” Changbin starts, very seriously. “Are you asking _me_ if I’m okay with an attractive dude touching my ass?” 

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. Changbin flushes. 

“It’s part of the job,” he ends up mumbling. “You’re fine, it’s fine, I promise.” 

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you curse,” Hyunjin says, finally. 

As per usual, he ignores any statement with lines to be read between, but only after he ignores the fact that the prince does, in fact, have a nice ass. It’s a fact that’s been brought up on occasion whenever conversation between Hyunjin’s friends takes a royal turn. 

The sky is blue, the grass is green. Seo Changbin, second in line to the throne, doesn’t seem to skip leg day. Facts, not opinions. 

Hyunjin gets to feel that skin under gloved fingertips and call it a job. 

“I’ve heard thigh pieces hurt,” Changbin continues, almost non committedly. Hyunjin wonders where he got that information from. “So I feel like you’re gonna hear me curse more often.” 

“I’ve signed the NDA for a reason, right?” Hyunjin jokes. It’s not funny, but Changbin laughs anyway. 

“Right,” he says. 

Hyunjin taps at his pedal.

The tattoo gun whirrs to life.

\------ 

An unfortunate side effect of Hyunjin’s regular medication is the hunger. If he’s still awake long enough for it to kick in, that is. 

He makes the mistake of finishing up some work before going to bed, a simple bee and flower piece he’s got two days to complete, anyway. He’s struck with sudden motivation and inspiration, something that has him pulling out his tablet and wrist brace at 11pm.

The munchies hit not long after he saves the final design, and Hyunjin finds himself rummaging around in the cupboard for the bag of Doritos that he knows Seungmin bought for exactly this occasion. 

It feels strange to shovel an entire bag of chips into his mouth without some sort of background noise, so Hyunjin takes a seat at his desk, pulls his feet up onto his chair and clicks on a random YouTube video with cheesy fingers.

**An Interview with Prince Changbin**

He doesn’t mean to. At least, he thinks he doesn’t. It’s a short video, only a few minutes long, and Hyunjin shoves a handful of chips into his mouth once the advertisements start. 

They’ve got a long few months of sessions ahead of them, Hyunjin justifies. Watching his client give an interview just provides information that could be used for small talk down the line, on those nights where the buzzing of a tattoo gun is too much and voices need to break through the noise.

Seungmin pops his head into Hyunjin’s room halfway through and gets a balled up Dorito bag to the face as he calls Hyunjin a stalker. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Hyunjin mumbles. He can’t find a suitable reaction, so he decides to cuss his housemate out, instead. 

“I was gonna make tea, if you wanted some,” Seungmin takes the insult in his stride, as he usually does. “Unless you wanna gay yearn in peace?” 

“I’m not _yearning_ ,” Hyunjin replies. Seungmin fixes him with a deadpan stare. “I’m just… curious.” 

“What is it that an interview says that you can’t just ask—” 

“—I’m single. Very, very single,” Prince Changbin’s voice booms from Hyunjin’s speakers, followed by a laugh. The interviewer suggests that Changbin might be looking for love, to which he replies with a noncommittal shrug.

“I see,” Seungmin, says.

“It’s not like that,” Hyunjin scrambles. Honestly, he has no idea why he’s watching this interview in the first place. He’s gonna blame his meds, and the fuzzy feeling in his head and limbs after he takes them. “I’m not gay yearning for a prince.” 

“Sure thing,” Seungmin says. His tone suggests that he doesn’t quite believe him. 

Hyunjin regrets throwing the empty bag at Seunmin earlier. 

Only because he has nothing left to throw.

\------ 

Animation school does wonders for some people. Hyunjin doesn’t really consider himself one of them, because while yes, he is an artist, it’s not in the field he trained in. 

Not like Jisung, who took his degree and made a name for himself, designing concept art for video games ranging from mobile apps to AAA titles. Hyunjin thinks Jisung would have made a damn good tattoo artist if he wanted to, and only if he got over his fear of blood, first. 

Of all the people Hyunjin met in those animation labs all those years ago, Jisung is the only one who has really stuck around. They still message each other with the same frequency, despite no longer using their conversations as time wasters while waiting for projects to render. 

Their friendship is something very precious to Hyunjin, because Jisung is one of the few people to experience both Hyunjin’s highs and lows, while sticking around throughout it all. 

“I love our brunch dates,” Jisung says through a mouthful of something ghastly— eggs benedict served on pancakes, washed down with the most excessively sized salted caramel milkshake that Hyunjin has ever seen. “Best part of my week, honestly.” 

Jisung works from home most days and Hyunjin makes sure to drag him out of his room every Monday. It’s a tradition at this point, and while Jisung absolutely picks Hyunjin up and puts him back together on occasion, Hyunjin makes sure to do the same. 

“I’d say that you’re the most interesting part of mine,” Hyunjin starts. He itches at his forehead with the back of his stylus. “But I can’t lie to you like that.”

Jisung throws a balled up napkin at him with a scowl. 

“If you weren’t tattooing someone I, for legal reasons, totally don’t know about,” Jisung starts, whispering conspiratorially over the tabletop. “Then I _might_ be offended.”

“This has nothing to do with him,” Hyunjin huffs, “and more to do with the fact that honesty is the basis of our wonderful friendship.” 

“You love me,” Jisung flutters his eyelashes. 

“You wish,” Hyunjin replies. 

Jisung readjusts the godawful snapback covering his already godawful bed hair. “How’s that going, by the way?” 

“I’ve touched his ass and made him bleed,” Hyunjin says. Jisung chokes. “It’s far less sexy than it sounds, though.” 

“Any idea why he’s seeing you and not, say, some celebrity artist who exclusively tattoos celebrities?” Jisung asks through a mouthful of pancake. “Like, you gotta admit it’s pretty weird, right?” 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin agrees. Of all the things that weigh on his mind, that little bit of information is particularly heavy. Of all the tattoo artists in the world, why Hyunjin? 

It’s something he’s wanted to bring up for a while, but Hyunjin is a little too afraid to throw around paranoia and confusion like that. Especially when they’ve got so many sessions to go. 

“I have several theories,” Jisung starts, holding up three fingers into the air. “First, you’re being scouted as a secret agent, wanted because you’ll need to gather information for the crown.” 

“From who?” Hyunjin drawls, indulging him. “The hipsters I get coming through my shop?” 

“Maybe an organised crime boss secretly follows your Instagram account,” Jisung’s eyes shine as he spouts his theory. Hyunjin laughs along as it becomes more wild and unlikely with each word from Jisung’s mouth. 

“This is just the plot from Kingsman,” Hyunjin points out, eventually. He takes the final sip of his tea, replacing the mug on the cafe table. “You’re just re-telling Kingsman but with me as Eggsy.”

“I forgot you went through a phase with that movie,” Jisung laments, “or maybe I didn’t. Maybe I retold a familiar story with an unbelievable plot to ease you of your paranoia,” he looks oddly serious for a second. “Because I know you, and I know you’re overthinking.” 

“I am a little,” Hyunjin readily admits. He’s serious when he says that Jisung has seen him at his worst, and therefore knows him better than anyone else. “It’s just… why me?” 

“Because you’re hot and you art good,” Jisung shrugs, “if I was a single, dude-fancying prince with money to burn, I’d let you touch my butt, too.”

“Jisung!” Hyunjin chides. 

Jisung wraps his shit-eating grin around his straw. 

“I’m just saying,” he says.

Of all the things weighing on Hyunjin’s mind, the conversation he has with Jisung makes it all feel just a little bit lighter.

\------

“My what?” Hyunjin sputters, almost knocking over his inkpot. He scrambles to make sure it doesn’t spill, because the base shade for gold accents is an absolute bitch to mix up. “You think Jisung is my _boyfriend_?” 

Jisung has long left the store, but Hyunjin swears he can hear his cackles, anyway. If he weren’t on so many meds, he’d chalk it up to psychosis. 

“You called it a date the other day,” Changbin says shyly. He’s pulling his pants off. Hyunjin has to look away. “On Instagram? And he blew you a kiss when he left, earlier?” 

“We have a codependent friendship,” Hyunjin informs him. “I make sure he sees sunlight once a week, he makes sure I don’t go insane, again,” he sighs, rotates his inkpots 180 degrees as he waits for Changbin to settle on the table. “Our friendship is complicated, yet completely platonic.”

“I have a lot of questions,” Changbin says. Hyunjin dips his needle into the ink and positions the gun right above Chanbin’s shin. 

He’s made the executive decision to work from the bottom up. To make sure the two pieces blend, he says. Out of professionalism, he assures. What Hyunjin doesn’t talk about is the budding attraction he feels towards someone so completely unobtainable, someone who just so happens to have a lovely thigh for him to tattoo. 

“We’ll be here for a while,” Hyunjin says, wiping away blood and ink with his paper towel. “Despite appearances, I’m an open book.” 

The tattoo gun buzzes for a second before Changbin speaks. “You’ve got bipolar, right?” 

Normally sharp gasps and inhales are from the clients, not from Hyunjin. But clients don’t usually scroll far enough back through Hyunjin’s Instagram to see the captions he’s made about his disorder in the past. 

Awareness month posts, the comedy and drama masks he inked onto the back of his own hands during a particularly bad episode. The semicolon he got Minho to tattoo behind his left ear, usually hidden by his hair. Hyunjin’s tattoos rarely have meaning, but when they do it’s usually to do with his head and everything that goes on inside of it. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Type II, so no full psychosis, but still bipolar.” 

“Do you mind me asking what it’s like?” 

Hyunjin freezes. Outside of the psychiatrist’s office, no one has really wanted to know the full experience. Of course his friends ask here and there, wondering how he’s feeling on a day to day basis, asking how bad his mania is getting when the signs are present.

“Sorry if it’s intrusive, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” 

But Hyunjin wants to. That’s the thing. He’s open because secrets breed stigma, encourage people like him to hide away from the world when the one in their head is in turmoil. He’s lucky that he’s in a position to speak up, be open about it. 

He knows that’s not the case for everyone. 

He just doesn’t know where to start. 

The manic thoughts, the shaking of his hands and the incessant buzzing of his thoughts. The way he can feel each one of them in the veins and arteries of his eyes, pressing down until his vision blurs. It’s the speech he can’t quite get out, the buzz, buzz, buzzing. Like a hive of bees has replaced his bloodstream—

“—normal,” is what he settles on, eventually. “For me, it’s just… it’s normal.”

Changbin nods like he understands. And maybe he does in his own weird way.

He changes the subject, then, onto tattooing and the myriad of stories Hyunjin has from his time behind the gun.

He doesn’t seem to think any less of Hyunjin.

And for that he’s thankful.

\-------

Hyunjin wails, fake and overdramatic, into the fabric of Seungmin’s sweater vest. 

“That kinda session, huh?” he says, carding his fingers through Hyunjin’s already messy hair. 

“He’s hot and doesn’t think I’m crazy,” Hyunjin fakes a sniffle.

“Oh, honey,” Seungmin coos. “I’ll go make you a cup of tea.”

\------ 

The thing about Changbin and Hyunjin is that they get along really well, even when they shouldn’t. The tattoo on Changbin’s leg reaches his knee and Hyunjin finds himself at the point of exchanging messages with the prince that have nothing to do with the job at hand. 

He seems to like Minho’s demon cats, so whenever Hyunjin ends up at Minho’s house after work, he’ll send through pictures, along with a summary of his day. Sometimes Changbin hits him with a behind the scenes selfie from whatever he happens to be doing during his duties as a prince. 

Sometimes Hyunjin lets out a whimper when looking at his phone, but everyone he knows has learnt better than to ask questions. Minho will occasionally smile at him, secretively and in knowing, but he keeps his mouth shut.

And for that Hyunjin is thankful. 

Changbin has become more than the prince, more than just a client. They’re friends now, or something like it. Past the point of acquaintances but still someone he hasn’t spent time with outside of a work environment, he’s almost like a coworker. 

One that Hyunjin just so happens to be very attracted to.

“So, yeah, it’s going to be pretty quiet, but you’re invited if you want?” 

Changbin is sitting well for someone getting a tattoo on his knee, so well, in fact, that he’s inviting Hyunjin to a casual get together with him and his friends. Not all royalty, although his brother may make a brief appearance at some point. 

It’s just a very famous Changbin, his very famous friends and a lot of expensive alcohol. 

Hyunjin desperately wants to say yes. 

“I’ll pass, sorry,” is what he says, instead. “I’m kinda an easy drunk, and I mean that in multiple senses of the word.”

Antipsychotics and mood stabilizers don’t play well with alcohol and he’s always found himself in someone’s lap within a few drinks whenever he’s said _to hell with it_ and gotten drunk, anyway. He could just go and stay sober, but the manic episode fizzling beneath his skin means his control in the face of temptation is almost non existent. 

“I’ll end up drunk and trying to kiss people,” he laughs. Changbin hisses out a curse, jumping as Hyunjin’s needle hits what must be a sensitive spot on his knee. “I don’t think we’re at the point where I can embarrass myself and still look you in the eye, afterwards.” 

“I’d make sure nothing happened to you,” Changbin says. He’s gripping at the edge of the table with white knuckles. It must hurt something awful, because Hyunjin isn’t sure what else could warrant such a reaction. “But, like, I’ll respect you saying no.” 

“Aren’t you a well mannered boy,” Hyunjin coos. He looks up at Changbin through his eyelashes. Changbin’s breath hitches. “I appreciate it, really.”

“I’ll send you photos,” Changbin chokes out. Hyunjin realises a little too late just how close his head is to Changbin’s inner thigh. He doesn’t need to re-dip his needle, but does anyway, just to put distance between himself and the kinda skin he’s not allowed to touch. “You won’t miss a single moment that way.” 

“I appreciate it,” Hyunjin says. 

He repositions his hand and puts needles to skin.

\------ 

True to his word, Changbin doesn’t stop spamming Hyunjin all night. It feels like he’s there, experiencing the whole ordeal in real time. Just as Changbin suggested, it’s a small and intimate gathering. 

He recognises a few faces in the background of Changbin’s selfies, ones that become blurrier as the night progresses and he downs more glasses of expensive champagne. Bang Chan, the rockstar sits with Lee Felix in his lap, a behind the scenes that Hyunjin feels he shouldn’t be privy to. 

Felix is a well known children’s entertainer, one that his little cousins watch almost religiously. He wonders how his relatives would feel about him now, what with his tongue halfway down Chan’s throat in the middle of the prince’s apartment. 

A model Hyunjin vaguely knows the face of shows up, pink haired with pinker cheeks, pressing a kiss into Changbin’s hair. He’s pretty and Hyunjin is only mildly jealous. Changbin’s lawyer makes an appearance, and the group of them send Hyunjin a video message by the end of the night.

All thoroughly drunk and wishing he was among them.

Hyunjin has to wonder how much Changbin has spoken about him, if the rockstar that Minho adores suggests his disappointment that they haven’t yet met.

_looks like you’re having fun_

Hyunjin shoots off a quick message before he settles into bed.

_wish you were here_ is the reply he wakes up to.

He doesn’t respond.

\------ 

Changbin is an inspiring person in a lot of ways. Hyunjin knows he’s a role model for children everywhere— handsome, polite, philanthropist. Tony Stark without the ego, he’s what people aim to be in life. 

For Hyunjin, Changbin inspires him to gather his closest friends and down an entire bottle of wine all by himself. 

Of course, his little venture with his friends goes without the usage of his phone. A precaution, just in case he gets in the mood to message certain members of the royal family and wax poetic about their thighs. 

Seungmin confiscates the device the second he spots the bottle in Hyunjin’s hand. Sometimes he knows Hyunjin better than he knows himself. 

Especially when he sends identical messages off to both Jisung and Minho, inviting them over to their witchy greenhouse of an apartment for a shared night of alcohol, claiming he needs moral support for whatever has brought Hyunjin to drink.

He doesn’t remember much by the end of it, but when his phone is returned to him in the morning, it’s to a myriad of drunken selfies taken on the phones of his friends. His mouth stained red from the wine he drank, his eyes glassy and hair a mess. 

_this one looks particularly thotty, send it to changbin ;)_

Minho sends him a particularly racy selfie, one where Hyunjin’s shirt slips off his shoulder. It’s too good for a simple private message, and so he edits it up and posts it straight to his personal account. 

Hyunjin ignores the fact that his drunk self must have spent the entire night talking about Changbin.

_why do you still look hot, even while drunk and horny?_

Jisung’s comment garners a lot of replies. Hyunjin ignores them all.

Changbin likes both the selfie and Jisung’s comment.

\------ 

Leaving the work on Changbin’s thighs for the later parts of their sessions sounded like a good idea to the Hyunjin of the past, but the Hyunjin of the present is cursing his former self as he sets up his table. 

He _likes_ Changbin now, something he should have seen coming. The curiosity, the simmering attraction. It’s evolved into full fledged feelings, and they’re something Hyunjin has to both address and ignore as he spends the next few hours between Changbin’s thighs.

Sat on Hyunjin’s table in only his underwear, Changbin’s legs are spread along the plastic wrapped surface. Hyunjin scoots his stool closer and closer still until he’s at the best angle to reach the section in need of colouring. The rest of his leg is healing in patches, some having partially healed, others still scabbed over. 

It’s time for the next section of skin to become one with ink, and Hyunjin has to remain professional as he does so. 

The way they’re positioned has Changbin just a little bit taller than him, and it would be so simple, so easy, just to lean up and capture those parted lips in a kiss between colours. Hyunjin has to keep himself focused, keep himself from wanting to do exactly that as he trades the yellow ink for red. 

Changbin gasps and groans during the session, a tad more vocal than the other times he’s been in the same position. It’s the pain, Hyunjin tells himself. Not their proximity, not the brushing of Hyunjin’s forearm along his stomach, not the way his arm shifts and moves as it rests high on his thigh. 

The whole session is tense and charged, barely a word is spoken past a breathless whisper and Hyunjin swears that half the noises that Changbin makes aren’t out of pain and out of something else entirely. 

But the thing with Hyunjin’s head is that he can barely trust it on the best of days and chalks it all up to a projection of feelings and the subdued hints of mania bubbling to the forefront of his mind, seeing meaning and intention in places it has no business being. 

Changbin grabs his arm as Hyunjin finishes the last of the shading, his hips shifting and Hyunjin swears he can feel—

—nothing. He feels nothing. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

\------ 

“I don’t know what that scream means, Hyunjin.” 

“It’s my _Changbin is hot and I want him to rail me_ scream.” 

“Gross.” 

“Let me be horny in peace, Seungmin.”

\------- 

Hyunjin takes a week off for mental health reasons. Not just from Changbin’s sessions, but from work in general. He’s got enough savings to cover himself for seven days and a relatively free week for possible re-schedules, but it’s nice to sit and do nothing for a while. 

Sometimes it’s a little too much, especially when Hyunjin’s at the start of a new mood cycle. He’s got antidepressants to curb the crushing weight in his chest that signifies the start of a new episode, the incessant buzzing of manic bees fading away into an emptiness that's almost worse.

It’s a shock to his system, so used to being wired and awake, now suddenly finding the act of getting out of bed to be difficult, even after he’s slept for a solid fourteen hours. It’s okay, it happens. To him this is normal.

Just something he has to deal with and something he has the luxury to take care of in the only way he knows how. 

Seungmin pats his hair and makes him tea and suddenly the seven days of rest are over and Hyunjin finds himself trudging back to CVLT with heavy footsteps and an ever present yawn. 

Minho greets him warmly as he makes his way into their staff room, depositing his bag with a sigh. He’s got a half day of work before meeting up with Changbin for another session in the evening, something he’s both looking forward to and dreading at the same time. 

He goes through the motions as he works on other clients and as soon as he knows it, Minho is slipping through the front doors as Changbin’s bodyguards do their cursory sweep. They’re so much more nonchalant about it, now, having inspected the same bottles of ink countless times already. 

But still, it’s part of the contract. 

They wave at Hyunjin as they make way for Changbin’s entrance. 

He breezes in with big smiles and excitement, looking almost giddy as he navigates through the shop. It brightens Hyunjin’s mood just slightly, and he manages to give an earnest smile in response. 

“Is it weird to say I missed you?” Changbin asks. Hyunjin finds himself thrown for a loop. 

“We’ve been messaging the whole time,” he replies. He stands, fiddling with his gloves. “It’s not like we haven’t spoken in a week.” 

“I know,” Changbin breathes. They stand close together, and Changbin’s hands twitch, hesitating before they come to rest on Hyunjin’s hips. “I just, I like seeing you, is all.” 

“I like seeing you, too.” 

Hyunjin knows he’ll have to replace his gloves, but he rests his hands on Changbin’s shoulders. Gently and with as much hesitation as he was shown, it lasts barely a few seconds before Changbin’s arms wrap around his waist and he’s pulled into a hug. 

It’s comfortable despite its awkward positioning, and Hyunjin finds himself laughing into the hair on the side of Changbin’s head. He knows it’s a hug of concern and comfort, and he appreciates the wordless gesture and much needed contact. 

“Feeling better?” Changbin mumbles into Hyunjin’s shirt. 

“I am,” he replies.

Especially now that he’s with Changbin.

\------ 

The hug is comforting, the following session is nothing but agony on Hyunjin’s poor heart. 

He has to lower his head to work closely on the details extending towards Changbin’s inner thigh, a sore spot to tattoo and while he’s proud of Changbin for sitting so well, he’s also acutely aware of how close his face is to Changbin’s crotch. 

In short, it’s absolute torture. There’s a part of Hyunjin’s mind that wants his head a little more centred, wants nothing between them as Hyunjin works his mouth over Changbin’s cock. But it’s a thought that starts and stops the second it comes to mind. 

Hyunjin has to be nothing but professional, especially in a position like this. 

But he can’t be the only one imagining the tension. Changbin’s bodyguards, his friends. They all send him knowing looks when they think Hyunjin isn’t watching. They don’t seem to realise that Hyunjin can’t seem to keep his eyes off of Changbin, and that he sees everything. 

Maybe they’ve picked up on Hyunjin’s feelings, maybe it’s all an inside joke that he’s not privy to.

He looks up at Changbin in between wiping the ink from his skin and a lock of hair falls into his face. He blows at it, trying not to touch it with his hands. He’s not fond of getting ink and blood in his hair and he’s too lazy to change out of his gloves if he touches something that isn’t quite sterile. 

Changbin laughs. 

“Here,” he says. 

His fingers brush the stray locks behind his ear, lingering, gentle. His fingertips continue their path, long after the hair is tucked away. Down Hyunjin’s jawline, before tracing a path towards open, parted lips. 

Changbin clears his throat, dropping his hand. 

There are two sessions to go.

Hyunjin can’t be imagining the tension.

\------ 

Hyunjin’s personal account is personal for a reason. He’ll say it as many times as it takes to stick, his friends mocking his thirst traps whenever they’re posted. It’s personal, he’s a person. He’s going to include pictures of his face from time to time. 

He thinks nothing of his most recent upload until he’s spammed with heart eyes from Jisung and Seungmin wolf whistles as he scrolls his feed. 

“Forgot you had these,” he snickers, flicking at Hyunjin’s pierced nipples through the fabric of his shirt. He devolves into full blown laughter as Hyunjin yelps and frowns at him for his audacity. 

“Thought you all needed a reminder that I’m hot,” he whines. Seungmin laughs harder.

“Us or Changbin?” he has the audacity to smirk, before he turns back to the TV and unpauses his game. He’s playing Witcher III, again. Something brought about after their umpteenth viewing of the television show. 

For someone so decidedly straight, Seungmin sure has some detailed fantasies about retiring to a log cabin with Henry Cavill. 

Hyunjin lets it slide. 

“I think he knows,” Hyunjin mumbles, collapsing next to Seungmin on the sofa. On screen, a Seungmin controlled Geralt takes down a wraith with ease. “Changbin, I mean. He knows I’m hot.” 

“Yeah, he’s got eyes,” Seungmin mumbles, only half paying attention. “Of course he knows.”

“No, like, he sent me a message about my selfie,” Hyunjin scrambles for his phone, pulling it out and waving it in Seungmin’s face. He ducks out of the way to view the TV better. “He said he can’t comment publicly, but he called me _stunning_ and said he loves the picture.” 

“Guess you both want him to rail you,” Seungmin says, but only after the final wraith shrieks and dies. 

Seungmin nonchalantly collects the loot it drops as Hyunjin screams.

\------ 

Hyunjin’s phone lights up with so many messages that he has to turn on Do Not Disturb. Nothing particularly important is being sent, anyway. It’s mostly his friends doing their best to embarrass him. 

Of course the knowledge of Changbin’s messages has made the round through Hyunjin’s friend group. Minho has been snickering at him all day, going out to buy lunch for the two of them and coming back with a pack of condoms to go along with Hyunjin’s sushi order. 

He can still feel his cheeks burning just thinking about it, and the last thing Hyunjin wants is for Changbin to actually see the kinds of filth he knows is being spammed to every social media account he has. 

Even without the distraction of his friends and their obscene messages, the tension in the room is still palpable. One of Changbin’s bodyguards has the audacity to _wink_ at him once the shop is deemed safe, commenting something about enjoying the session. 

Hyunjin wants to bury his face in his hands, but that requires a change of gloves and they’re something he really doesn’t want to waste. 

Changbin greets him with another hug, long and with lingering hands that trace along his spine. It’s a terrible idea to touch the person drawing permanent marks into one’s skin, but Changbin continues to be handsy as the session progresses. 

He brushes Hyunjin’s hair aside for him, rests his fingertips on his free wrist, traces gentle touches down to where Hyunjin’s hand is braced over a healed section of ink. He looks down at Hyunjin with a faraway look in his eyes.

Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, raw and bloody

It’s the second last time they’ll have to meet for this particular piece, some final touches and extra shading the only thing standing between the two of them and the potential for contact to eventually fade away. 

He doesn’t want that to happen. He’ll message first if he has to, because there’s nothing more that Hyunjin wants than for the prince’s—no, _Changbin’s_ presence in his life.

And it seems as if Changbin feels the same. 

“You don’t work on Mondays, right?” he asks. He’s got that look on his face again, the one where he watches Hyunjin like the artist and the tattoo gun in his hands are the most fascinating things in the world. 

“Government assigned day off,” Hyunjin laughs. He blows a strand of hair from his face, only to find it caught and tucked away for him, instead. “Minho would have my head if I didn’t take a break every once in a while.” 

“So if I asked you out for dinner and drinks on Sunday, there wouldn’t be any work related reasons for you to say no?” 

Hyunjin pauses, his foot lifting from the pedal out of surprise. It stops the buzzing, draping the shop’s interior with a thick, heavy silence. 

“No,” he swallows. “There wouldn’t be.” 

“Would there, uh,” Changbin’s words are hesitant but his actions are bold, his hand coming to rest over Hyunjin’s. “Would there be any _personal_ reasons for you saying no?” 

“I’d have some questions,” he laughs, awkwardly. He makes no effort to remove Changbin’s hand from his own. “But I wouldn’t decline.” 

“I’ll call it a thank you dinner if it makes you more comfortable...”

His hand drops down to the bench, where his fingers fiddle with the folds in the plastic wrap. 

“But what do you want to call it?”

Tense silence. Hyunjin wants to tap at his pedal just for some sort of non-suffocating noise.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he smiles. 

Hyunjin runs a glove covered thumb along the healing ink on Changbin’s thigh.

He hopes that its answer enough

\------ 

“You look like a whore,” Seungmin says. He wanders past the bathroom while Hyunjin dries his hair, shouting to be heard over the whirring of the hairdryer. 

“Says you,” Hyunjin replies. He completely ignores that Seungmin is dressed in his Pokemon themed pyjamas, while Hyunjin can feel his nipple piercings catching on the lace of his shirt. 

“I meant that as a compliment,” Seungmin gestures to Hyunjin with the Switch in his hand. “Genuine affection is disgusting, I thought I’d be nice in a roundabout way.” 

“Could use the compliment boost right now, buddy,” Hyunjin sighs. He pouts at the mirror, running his hands through his hair a few times. “It’s not, like, too much?” 

“It is, which is exactly why you should wear it,” Seungmin nods sagely. “Go get that prince dick, baby, I believe in you.”

“I want both his heart and his dick.” 

“You won’t get either if you don’t leave…” Seungmin trails off, fishing his phone from the pocket of his pants to check for the time. “Five minutes ago?” 

Hyunjin swears, barely remembering to grab his phone and keys as he rushes out the door.

\------

The sight before him is familiar— bodyguards standing by a locked door, the interior looking suspiciously empty. The smile and wave at Hyunjin as he jaywalks across the street, finding the restaurant Changbin has picked easier than expected. 

Of course he’s done his research. He’s being taken to an offshoot, side project place run by a celebrity chef. It’s run by his most talented proteges, a place where they can freely run culinary experiments to their heart's content, honing their own individuality under the absent guidance of their boss. 

There’s no menu and no prices, each course decided on a whim by the chef of the night, with the final total being revealed at the end and dependent on what has been cooked. It’s the kind of thing that Hyunjin never thought he’d experience. He’s filled to the brim with all sorts of excitement. 

The biggest of Changbin’s bodyguards pats him on the back as he unlocks the door, mumbling that Hyunjin looks nice and that Changbin is going to be blown away. 

“That’s the plan,” he winks. The bodyguard laughs. 

Hyunjin enters the restaurant with a spring in his step.

The interior’s lighting is dimmed to create atmosphere, the settings sleek and modern, but cast with the kind of warm light that makes it welcoming. There are no tables, just seats at bars in front of fully decked cooking stations. 

A single chef busies himself at the centre station, chatting idly with Changbin who has made himself at home behind the bar. Dressed in all black and in an outfit that costs more than Hyunjin’s yearly wage, his forearms flex beneath rolled sleeves as he makes himself a cocktail. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Hyunjin says, sliding into a seat in front of the chef. The embroidered patch on his chef’s coat reads _Jeongin_ in loopy cursive. “My Uber driver got a little lost.” 

“I’ve been telling Changbin that he should have picked you up,” Jeongin mutters with a roll of his eyes. “So much for royal manners, huh?” 

“Talk about my manners when you find your own,” Changbin says. He slides from behind the bar with two glasses in his hand, filled with delicious looking cocktails of his own creation. 

He hands one to Hyunjin, before notifying him that it’s non-alcoholic. Hyunjin hums as he takes a sip, the tart taste of passionfruit blossoming across his tongue, before a sweet undercurrent comes along to soothe it. 

“You look incredible, by the way.” 

With a hand free, Changbin can now rest a hand on Hyunjin’s back, placing a kiss on the top of his head before he settles into the stool beside him. Changbin’s hand doesn’t drift too far, sliding from its spot between Hyunjin’s shoulder blades to the backrest of his chair, where it stays.

“And here I was thinking I’d have to teach you how to flirt, too,” Jeongin says. Whatever he’s cooking smells delicious, and Hyunjin hides his watering mouth behind a shy hand. “You two look good together, by the way.” 

“It’s not—” Changbin starts. Hyunjin cuts him off with a hand to his thigh. 

“I think so too,” he says with a small smile. Changbin’s grip tightens around the back of his chair as he returns it. 

In the background, Jeongin fakes a dry heave. 

“The first time you bring someone along and _this_ is how you act?” he mumbles. 

“Oh, I’m the first?” Hyunjin laughs, taking a sip of his mocktail. “I feel special.” 

“You should, I’m Changbin’s _hidden secret_ or something,” he chops something absentmindedly, his eyes on his customers as his hands move on autopilot. “He makes me sign an NDA and then asks me to make him mac and cheese at two am.” 

Changbin cries out in offence as Hyunjin laughs aloud. “He made me do the same thing, except I gave him a tattoo, not an increased cholesterol level.” 

The gears in Jeongin’s head turn, almost visibly. “That’s where I know you from,” he says, “you’re the pretty tattoo boy he’s been pining over.” 

“Jeongin,” Changbin whines, “could you do your job without embarrassing me?” 

“No can do, your highness,” Jeongin grins. “The NDA only counts when you’re gone.” 

\------ 

For something so obviously a date, the entire dinner is the least date-like experience that Hyunjin has ever had. Jeongin joins in on the conversation and is readily welcomed, his back and forth with Changbin a testament to how well they know each other. 

Changbin’s hand never leaves him, though, and it has something simmering within Hyunjin the entire night. Wrapped behind his chair, a hand on his thigh. A strand of hair tucked behind his ear every now and again. 

Occasionally their faces draw close enough that a kiss wouldn’t be out of the question, but they’re with company and not completely alone. Hyunjin is thankful that Jeongin stops commenting on every stray touch and brush of their noses, otherwise they’d have nothing else to talk about during dinner.

The food is magnificent, a gastronomy menu filled with small, almost bite sized tastings, each one as delicious as the last. Hyunjin sips on the best cup of tea he’s ever drunk while Changbin offers him small forkfuls of their dessert platter, Jeongin absent as he tends to the dishes. 

Without an audience, Hyunjin makes a show of it. He watches Changbin’s gaze drop to his mouth with every bite he takes, gaze stuck on the way Hyunjin’s tongue licks away excess cream from the side of his lips. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he says, voice dark. His grip on the back of Hyunjin’s chair tightens. 

“Doing what?” he whispers, before taking the fork back into his mouth, sucking the final remnants of the cake from between the prongs. “I’m just enjoying my dessert.” 

“You’re being a menace,” Changbin says, reclining in his seat. Jeongin barges between them unapologetically as he reaches for their empty plate. 

“Go home!” he calls out, carrying his dishes back to be washed. “I’d like to tidy up without choking on UST!” 

“Well,” Changbin says, standing up. He’s long since paid for their expensive meal, and he offers Hyunjin his hand as they go to leave. “You heard the man.” 

The parking lot he leads them to is secure, and all but empty. 

Changbin doesn’t let go of his hand the entire time.

\------ 

“I’ll drive you home,” is what Changbin says. Hyunjin barely hears him as he marvels over the prince’s car, something most likely worth more than Hyunjin’s entire apartment building. 

Black, sleek and sexy. The doors open upwards when Hyunjin climbs inside. Leather interior and smelling like Changbin’s cologne, Hyunjin takes a moment to breathe and settle himself before Changbin climbs in after him. 

Placing the keys in the ignition, he doesn’t make a move to start the car, instead stealing glances at Hyunjin with his hands resting on the steering wheel. 

“I’m, uh, gonna need some directions—” 

Hyunjin throws subtlety out the window as he clambers across the console, seating himself in Changbin’s lap. He grips the back of the headrest as he settles, Changbin’s hands landing straight on Hyunjin’s thighs. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Changbin curses, his hands running appreciative paths over Hyunjin’s jeans. 

Hyunjin’s hands come to rest on the side of his neck, and Changbin peers up at him with dark eyes. His chest heaves, his eyelids flutter. 

Hyunjin kisses him. 

Immediately Changbin’s hands fly to Hyunjin’s lower back, pulling them closer together as Hyunjin’s back arches, letting out a whine into Changbin’s waiting mouth. He kisses like a man desperate, wanting. 

No one has ever kissed Hyunjin like this before. 

His hands wander and roam, resting on Hyunjin’s ass as he pulls Hyunjin’s lower lip into his mouth, releasing it before diving in for another kiss. A man starved, a man longing. 

Hyunjin knows exactly how he feels. 

“I don’t wanna assume,” Changbin pulls away, breathless. His hands rest on Hyunjin’s ass and he’s having trouble thinking about anything else. “I’m trying to be a gentleman…” 

“Assume all you want,” Hyunjin presses a desperate kiss to Changbin’s waiting mouth. “And please, whatever you do, don’t be gentle.” 

Changbin groans. 

“Wanna come back to mine?” he asks. 

Hyunjin answers him with a kiss.

\------ 

The morning brings warmth and a bed so comfortable that Hyunjin never wants to leave it. He groans, feeling the soft sheets shift along his bare skin, rolling over until he makes contact with something solid. 

“Those meds really knock you out, huh?” Changbin asks with a laugh. He’s not doing anything cliche like watch Hyunjin sleep. Considering the amount of drool on his very expensive pillow, it’s something Hyunjin is thankful for. 

He’s also thankful for his past self’s foresight to bring a sheet of his medication along with him to dinner— a hopeful, yet helpful action that means that Hyunjin doesn’t have to slink off to make sure he’s not hit with med withdrawals come midday.

“Yeah, my head will be MIA for like, an hour,” Hyunjin mumbles. He cuddles up to Changbin’s side, resting his head on his chest. Changbin lightly traces down his neck, where Hyunjin knows is a path of marks and bruises. 

“Will coffee help?” he asks, curling a lock of Hyunjin’s hair around his finger. “And breakfast?” 

“You gonna cook for me?” 

“I was thinking brunch, I can get something delivered for us.” 

Hyunjin groans as he sits up, pressing a kiss to the side of Changbin’s neck in thanks. 

“You’re amazing,” he says. 

He curls up in Changbin’s arms as they wait for delivery.

He can think of no better way to spend his Monday morning.

\------

**”[...] Prince Changbin shows off his new, secret tattoo in raunchy cover shoot, hints that he’s in an intimate relationship with the man who tattooed him…”**

“Babe, you know better than to read that nonsense,” Changbin presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. Hyunjin sighs and reaches for a second mug.

“It’s _your_ nonsense,” he replies, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his cup. “And you basically set the media hounds on me with your little stunt.” 

“Oops.” 

Hyunjin can feel his boyfriend’s lazy grin through the back of his shirt, his tone completely unapologetic. 

“We can go public, if you want,” Hyunjin spins in Changbin’s hold, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. “It’ll be good for business.” 

“Everyone assumes anyway,” Changbin grins. It’s true. While nothing is confirmed, they’ve commented affirmations of love on enough of each other’s selfies that most people have taken the hint. “I’ll get the lawyers to organise a press conference—” 

Hyunjin’s phone vibrates in his hold. A notification from Instagram, a follower request that feels so familiar, yet so distantly in the past that it brings up nostalgia. 

**johnnyseo**

“—or your brother could just follow me on Instagram,” Hyunjin huffs. “Talk about anticlimactic.” 

Changbin pulls him down for another kiss. 

“Welcome to the family,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Take your meds, kids.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/texaschansaws)


End file.
